


Like Pressing Flowers

by agoodtuckering



Series: Doctor Who Oneshots and Stories [24]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Autumn, Best Friends, F/M, Fluff, He just needs to sweep her off of her feet, Idiots in Love, Love, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-23 15:12:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16161464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agoodtuckering/pseuds/agoodtuckering
Summary: Clara catches the Doctor pressing leaves to save as souvenirs.





	Like Pressing Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Whouffaldi Fictober's prompt #2: "autumn leaves". This is a sequel to "Just a Walk", FYI.

_“What are you doing?”_

Clara’s question caught the Doctor off-guard. He was busy pressing leaves into a book, wax paper safely sandwiching each one. He swiveled slightly, though, and cast his eyes in her direction. There was a light grin on his lips as well, just to see her.

“I’m just… keeping souvenirs,” said the Doctor, voice low and soft. He was busy, she could tell, but it didn’t stop her from asking question. They were idling in the vortex, enjoying an afternoon aboard the TARDIS after yet another adventure.

Curiously, she asked, “Are those… Are those leaves from Central Park? From the walk we went on a few days ago? They’re awfully pretty. Swamp Maples make for gorgeous leaves. They’re so bright. They stay that way, too.”

He smiled and placed the book back on the shelf in his Workshop, content to let them flatten over a time period, all on their own. He wouldn’t use technology for something this simple. He couldn’t just… sonic them, and change the frequency of the metabolic spliced cytochromes. It would have to be done naturally.

Turning towards her now, he found them practically nose to nose. They actually _bumped_ noses. He huffed in surprise and she went wide-eyed. He rubbed his crooked nose, mock-affront on his features, put some space between them and responded for her. “The very same. They’re all from Central Park.” He had the good grace to actually, _really_ flush a light shade of pink, as if she’d discovered some deep, dark secret about him. _He wanted to have something to remember her by._

 _She was his leaf. She blew into_ his _world on a leaf. She was still blowing. He didn't think she’d ever land._

“I know how to make bookmarks with flowers, you know,” she said with a sweet smile. “We taught the Year Fives how to do it. There was an after-school art class and booklets with everything on it. It’s a lot like pressing flowers. I can show you. Then you can use them for reading.” She smiled, her dimples making a grand, sweet appearance. “And you can think of me whenever you see them,” she added playfully.

 _Oh, Clara,_ he thought to himself, _I think of you always. I don’t need a leaf for that._

His expression said it all, though, and she stepped away to wander for the doorway to his workshop. He watched her go, a silly little grin alighting his features. If his eyes briefly fell to watch her bum and her hips sway, _then who would really ever know?_ She didn’t notice.

“Hungry?” he asked, a single, mighty brow arched. He was, in all honesty, starved. He could eat an entire horse if he had one. Maybe even a cow, too. Who knew.

She nodded her head, chestnut tendrils of hair bobbing with the movement. “Famished,” she replied softly, without any hesitation whatsoever. “Could go for some fish and chips. How’s that sound? Somewhere out, though. Not on the TARDIS.” Her hand smoothed tenderly over the wall for a moment. “No offense, old girl. Your food is always delicious. I just need some fresh air is all.” 

It warmed his hearts whenever she did that. Whenever she spoke to his TARDIS. It made him all warmed inside, brought a silly smile to his lips, and she would notice, blush, and look away. This time, though, she was too busy patting the wall with sincerity. The TARDIS even hummed softly, contentedly in response.

He hopped up from his chair at the bench and followed her off to the Console Room, not unlike a puppy following after its owner. If he had a tail, well, it would have been wagging furiously. The image did nothing to dispel the aura of cuteness he gave off when around her. _She was done for._ Absolutely in love, and completely hopeless for it.

“There’s this place I really loved in Massachusetts, in the 1970’s,” he prattled on. "I was stuck there for a while, doing TARDIS repairs. I had to pretend to be American. Awful times. Bad, bad accent. No one believed me. But… delicious fish and chips. Shall we pay the restaurant a visit?”

 _“Take me away, Starman,”_ she chimed in, excitedly casting her eyes up at the time rotor as he plugged in the coordinates, both of their bellies rumbling and growling at the same time.


End file.
